The Pupil in Denial
by discreet quiet
Summary: Post ROTJ--Luke is having difficulties adjusting to his artificial hand and what he experianced on the Death Star. Mind you, there's some mild slashy content in there--nothing graphic, mostly emotional.


The Pupil In Denial

Disclaimer: These characters, this poor lady and these strange gents don't belong to me. They belong to the delightful Mr. Lucas, and I make no money from playing with his toys. Furthermore, it's been a bit since I've actually written fan fiction, so my apologies if I'm a bit rusty. Be warned of some vaguely slashy undertones in this story. Finally, the title comes from the song "The Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice.

* * *

Fireworks still crackled overhead sporadically, even though the victory had been theirs for a full twelve days. Cleaning up the mess left on Endor, by both the Empire and the Rebellion, was nearing completion, and soon the New Republic would be taking off to set up shop on Coresaunt.

And Han was about to take off too, hoping never to have to set up shop anywhere again. He couldn't wait to be in space again--back in the pilot's seat, Chewie at his side, at home on the _Falcon_.

They couldn't bring anyone else with them, even if he wanted to. Even if he had, almost unconsciously, packed enough food to accommodate himself, the Wookie, and another human.

"Han?" Leia's voice held none of its usual demanding, infused instead with a worried complaint.

"Yeah?" He turned to face her directly, and she was a sight to behold. She looked as neat, prim, and lovely as ever, but there was something eating away at her usual air of calm self assurance. And Han knew she would have to be desperate to talk to him about it, to ask his help.

_After the trick you pulled, she shouldn't even be looking at you._ A pang of guilt made Han wince slightly.

"I need your help. I need you..." she looked away, taking a deep breath to steady her voice, "I need you to talk to Luke."

_No, wait, how could she tell? I haven't told anyone yet. Not even the kid._ "What about?"

"I don't know, find out what's wrong. He won't speak to me or anyone since he returned from the Death Star, and whatever happened up there has got to be what's bothering him."

Han knew that if he tried to open his mouth to Luke, everything--every suppressed whisper, every emotion, every concern and moment of silence would reveal itself for what it really was.

And that was something he could not afford--not when he was two days away from resigning his post in the New Republic and taking to the skies. "He's your brother, you talk to him."

"I know he'll talk you to," Leia persisted.

"And what makes you think that?" The question came harsher than he had intended while he tried to control his breathing.

Leia's eyes flashed violently and she caught his guilty eyes. "Do I look stupid to you? Do you think I don't know what's going on here! Just because you don't tell me the details while you're breaking my heart doesn't mean I'm not going to pick them up myself!" There was something frantic in her voice. "But none of that matters now. Just go talk to him! Please!"

She didn't say it out loud, but Han could hear her voice whisper when he met her tearing eyes. _You owe me,_ they seemed to say, _you owe me after just walking away from every promise you ever made to me. Pay your debt._

He took a deep breath. Yes, she was right. It was time to pay his debts.

* * *

He was sitting on one of the catwalks connecting the Ewok tree huts, leaning over the edge and staring at his hand.

His right hand, Han realized with a start. His artificial hand, the souvenir of his first run-in with Darth Vadar.

He almost turned and walked away, back to his ship, and left right then. But he had two days left here, two more days of commitment to this fledgling Republic, before he was entitled to his freedom again.

And besides, he couldn't just leave the kid. Not after he saw him here, alone, staring at his hand.

So he sat beside him and tossed out some small talk. "So, uh, you keeping this title of Commander Skywalker, or will Intergalactic Hero do for you?" he smiled lamely.

It was no matter--Luke wasn't paying attention anyway. He didn't even seem to notice Han beside him.

"What's wrong with your hand, kid? If it's misbehaving, there's got to be someone floating around here who can set it right." _If there isn't, I'll be glad to talk you with me and we can travel the galaxy together looking for someone to fix it. C'mon, let's get out of here._

"Oh no," Luke muttered darkly, "It's behaving just fine. It follows my every command, and sometimes I could probably forget it's not real." He laughed bitterly. "In fact, if it weren't for this glove I might even forget which one I lost."

Han looked over at the gloved hand, watching it flex, hearing the smooth black leather rubbing together as Luke clenched the fingers. "Oh, well that's, uh, good."

"No." Slowly, warily, with a look of fear, Luke stretched the hand as far away from him as he possibly could, leaning his body back away from it. "It's wrong. It's artificial. My father--I'm turning into my father."

Han felt a nervous laugh escape him. "I dunno kid, at some point we all have to turn into our folks. And anyway, I thought you said you didn't know your father."

"Didn't you hear yet? Didn't Leia tell you? When she told you we were related, she must have told you who our father was." Luke finally turned his tired eyes on Han and smiled, but there was no cheer in it. "My father was the most powerful Jedi you could possibly imagine. And he was also mostly machinery. My father was Darth Vadar."

Han felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Vadar? Are we talking about the same Vadar who removed your hand for you in the first place?"

"The same. And now I realize that he could have started with a metal hand, just like this one. He could have been good, on the side of right. But then something changed. He became more machine than man, and that's what I will be someday. A machine." His eyes drifted back to the outstretched hand. "It's a good thing you're leaving soon--don't come back when you do. You don't want to be around when I face destiny."

"No," Han said softly. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, wishing desperately that he could draw this pain out of him and take it with him when he left. "There's still one difference between you and Vadar. You feel. He felt nothing but hate, anger--you know, all that Dark Side stuff you tried explaining to me before. You feel light, and happiness." _And love,_ his mind added, but could not say.

"Yes. For now."

Han's heart was thudding in his chest, and his better judgment screamed against what he was about to do. _If you do this, he'll know everything. He'll read you like an operating manual--know all these secrets you've been trying to hide from him and his sister and yourself._ But still he reached forward, pulling the outstretched right hand toward him.

"What are you--" Luke turned to him, struggling slightly with the strong hand around his wrist.

"Give me this hand that gives you so much trouble."

"No!" Luke wrenched his hand out of Han's grasp and pulled it towards his chest, tucking it beneath his left arm protectively. "I don't want it to touch you," he said darkly.

"It's not gonna infect me, kid, now give it up." He wrenched Luke's hand out from beneath his arm and held it outstretched before him. Luke squirmed, turning to Han with an uncomfortable look.

_There it is. There's the skittish, awkward farmboy hidden underneath that calm Jedi exterior. There's what you fell for when you scooped him and the old man off that dust bowl he called home._

Slowly Han tugged gently at the tip of each finger. The black glove slid off easily, and the pale simulated flesh was cast in the ethereal blue light of a firework flashing overhead. He let the glove fall down from the walkway, sailing like a tiny bird into the brush below them.

"Han..." Luke said warningly, wetting his lips and looking him in the eye.

_That can't be what you think it is_, Han told himself as he met Luke's eyes. _That's not adoration or any more affection than one would feel for a friend, so don't get your damn hopes up. If you don't do this, you'll regret it for the rest of your life._

Han wet his lips and leaned down, gently kissing the center of the outstretched palm before him.

"D'you feel that?" Han asked.

Luke, eyes closed, nodded quickly. Han knew he felt more than just the touch of lips to his skin.

"Than you've got nothing to be afraid of." Han smiled, even laughed a little, and pulled Luke close to him in a friendly embrace. _Touch as much of him as you can before you have to go. Remember this._

"Han?" Luke whispered hoarsely, burying his face in Han's shoulder.

"Yeah?" Han cleared his throat and tightened his arms around Luke's thin chest.

"Stay a little longer?"

"Yeah," Han replied, closing his eyes. "Yeah, okay."


End file.
